"And now, to your own concerns. Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose. White leaned forward in her chair with an anxious smile designed to throw oil upon the troubled waters. Baffled in their attempt, the mob uttered a roar, such as only a thousand angry voices can utter, and discharged a volley of missiles at the soldiery. She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance.
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